No more muzzle flashes came from within. Sam wondered who was left alive and prayed she hadn’t lost the sister she’d so recently found.
Chapter 6
With the computer glow playing across his face, Elle recognized the man from the train station. Stay centered, she told herself. You can’t help Sam if you’re dead.
“Your sister may be in danger,” Joachim repeated.
Blood from the cut on his forehead tracked down his handsome features to his nose and chin, then dripped off. Beneath the cut his eye was already starting to swell. Elle noticed that other parts of him had swelled, too, though she doubted that had anything to do with the headbutt.
Two phones, each with a distinct ring tone, went off in Joachim’s jacket. He ignored them.
“Popular tonight, aren’t you?” Elle asked.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
A third phone buzzed. This time Elle realized it was hers. She wore it at her waist.
After a brief hesitation, Joachim shifted Elle’s wrists into one massive hand and with the other reached for her phone. He flipped it open and said, “I’ve got your sister.”
RILEY CONNOR LISTENED TO THE PHONE RING in his ear. He scanned the wallscreen. Tolliver had tagged the four identified predators with red triangles over their heads. Blue triangles marked Sam and the houseboat. An orange triangle stayed over the head of the unidentified man with Sam.
One of the men pulled a long, tubular device from under his jacket.
“Magnify,” Riley commanded, listening to the phone ring in his ear again. Sam was on hold on another line, but he could clearly see her in the speedboat she’d liberated.
Tolliver threw a rectangle over the man and blew up the image onscreen. The details fuzzed out a little, but Riley was able to identify the tube.
“Is that a rifle?” Tolliver asked.
Fear screamed through Riley’s system. He barely walled it off. “No. That’s a LAW. A light, antitank weapon. A disposable rocket launcher.”
The phone rang again and was picked up on the other end. Riley had called Elle’s number, knowing that she would either answer or not. After the shots fired in the houseboat, it was a safe bet that her presence was known.
Instead of Elle’s calm voice, so like Sam’s except more worry free, a thick male voice with the hint of a German accent barked, “I’ve got your sister.”
“This is Special Agent Riley McLane of the United States Central Intelligence Agency,” Riley announced, cutting the man off. “There are four men outside the houseboat closing in on your position. One of them has just taken aim at you with a rocket launcher. I don’t think they intend to take either of you alive.”
ROCKET LAUNCHER. The words she’d overheard burned into Elle’s mind. She forced herself to relax, to focus. She’d been under fire dozens of times in urban places and military zones. She could rely on her training.
Atop her, Joachim shifted, striving to see through the covered window. Bucking her hips, Elle shoved him off and threw herself in pursuit of the pistol. Her hand closed around the gun butt. At the same time, Joachim’s hand closed around her ankle. Turning and twisting, she powered through his grip—hoped that he didn’t sprain her ankle or her knee—and came up in a sitting position.
She aimed the pistol at the center of his face.
Joachim froze. His lips moved in a silent curse as he grimly accepted his fate.
“I know that was Riley McLane,” she said. “If he told you there’s someone out there with a rocket launcher, there is.”
Joachim nodded. “What do you propose?”
“That we get the hell out of here.”
Taking his hand from her ankle, Joachim pushed himself to his feet. He drew the curtain aside just a fraction and peered out.
Immediately a hail of bullets crashed through the window and the houseboat’s wall. Glass, wood and insulation sailed into the air. The bullets continued on to the other wall, tearing through again. At least two or three smashed into the computer monitor.
Elle jumped to her feet and into a run. She moved smoothly in the zone she had created for herself.
Joachim followed her.
Anticipating that the gunners might assume their prey was coming out the stern door, Elle aimed for the forward door. She ran through the galley, shoved her way through the cluttered mess of the bedroom and had her hand on the doorknob as another volley of shots tore through the wall behind her.
She tried the door. “Locked,” she told Joachim.
“Stand aside.” He ran at the door and hit it with his shoulder.
Propelled by Joachim’s size and strength, the door ripped from its hinges and slapped onto the houseboat deck. Elle stumbled out, caught by surprise for just an instant. Joachim steadied her with a hand under one elbow, then dragged her toward the prow.
“Jump!” he roared.
Reaching the side, Elle shoved her hands forward while maintaining the death grip on the H&K .45 and leaped over the side. A fiery comet’s tail from the LAW rocket reflected on the canal surface just before she hit.
IN DISBELIEF AND HORROR, Sam watched debris from the houseboat sail up into the night then come raining back down.
The phone clicked in her ear. “Sam.”
“Riley,” Sam choked out, powering down the boat.
“She made it,” Riley said. “She jumped from the bow of the houseboat before the rocket hit. I’ve got her onscreen. She’s safe. So is the guy with her.”
“What guy?” Sam peered ahead, but although the flames from the burning houseboat illuminated the nearby area, the light seemed to make the darkness beyond their reach even darker.
“Look out,” Riley called. “Portside.”
Glancing to her left, Sam saw another powerful speedboat coming at her from the other end of the canal, facing her. A man with an assault rifle stood to the boat pilot’s left.
Ducking down, Sam slammed the throttle forward again. The propeller ripped into the canal water and the speedboat shivered like a wet dog as it leaped into motion and hydroplaned up to the surface.
The man with the assault rifle fired immediately. Some of the rounds took off a corner of the Plexiglas window and others trip-hammered the length of the speedboat. Pieces of coaming leaped into the air.
Staying low, Sam aimed the speedboat at the other vessel. She couldn’t veer away. If she did, she’d leave herself at the mercy of the gunman.
Instead, the man piloting the other craft pulled out of her way. Sam steered after him. Her speedboat juked and quivered, then slammed against the other boat. Shudders passed through the other speedboat as it rode higher out of the water. For a moment Sam thought it might even flip. Then the enemy speedboat dropped back down into the water.
The gunman tumbled from the boat into the canal.
She followed Achterburgwal south, listening to Tuenis bleat in terror behind her. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw that the other boat had reversed engines and was coming back around.
BULLETS CORED THROUGH THE CANAL behind Elle. She paused and frog-kicked, holding her position beneath the water’s surface. She kept her calm with some effort.
With the houseboat burning nearby, the flames ripped away some of the shadows. Gray-green streamers ignited by the light followed the bullets’ trajectories.
An iron grip closed on her ankle and tugged.
Panicked for just a moment, Elle kicked out at the hand that held her. The water slowed the kick, but she still hit Joachim in the head.
He released her ankle and held his open hands up in surrender. No, he mouthed and shook his head. Air bubbles escaped his mouth and nose. He motioned to her to follow and took off swimming toward the darkness. She swam after him.
A moment later, when she knew she could no longer hold her breath, Elle surfaced. She’d lost Joachim in the shadows. She floated faceup, not surfacing any more than she had to and using only one hand.
A big hand came out of the darkness a
nd cupped her chin. She tensed, getting ready to fight.
“Easy,” Joachim whispered in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He cradled her against his body. She felt the heat of him, hotter even than the flames from the burning houseboat. Muscles in his forearm corded around her neck and she felt the thick heaviness of his powerful chest moving easily as he breathed. His heart thudded against her back.
He released her, and as he slipped away his heat drifted off in the chill of the water.
A sudden burst of fire from what Elle knew to be a Kalashnikov assault rifle sounded out in the canal.
Following the familiar yammering noise to its source, Elle spotted two boats idling out in the middle of the canal, looking as if they’d collided. Just before one craft took off, Elle recognized Sam at the wheel. Bits and pieces of the speedboat she piloted plopped into the canal as sparks spat from metalwork.
At first Elle thought Sam was going to make good on her escape. A moment later, the other boat came around. The pilot idled for just a second to allow a man in the water to clamber aboard. Then he powered up again and shot across the water in Sam’s wake.
“She’s not going to make it,” Joachim said. “That boat’s too fast.”
Elle’s mind raced. Panic threatened to disrupt her control. Help Sam. Rusland Street wasn’t far away. Once she made it there, she could cut across to Kloveniersburgwal Canal and attempt to ambush the boat following Sam. But she needed a rifle rather than the handgun she had now.
Hurried footsteps rushed to the canal’s edge above her.
One of the hunters appeared through the darkness and leaned over the canal’s edge. His head and shoulders hunched together, forming a tight frame around the assault rifle he held. The man saw Elle and sighted the rifle at her.
Before the man could fire, Elle shot for his face. He pirouetted around and dropped bonelessly to the ground.
Elle swam to the nearest landing and climbed up to the street. She stopped at the man’s body, took the AK-47 and ran her hands along his pockets to turn up two fresh magazines for the assault rifle.
Police sirens cut through the night air.
Elle couldn’t tell if the sound came from within the city or out on the canal. Police would be coming from both directions.
Another man, this one dressed in a long coat, came at her from the houseboat wreckage. The twisting flames illuminated his features. He carried a pump-action shotgun that he lowered into position.
Cradling the AK-47, Elle swung around and feathered the trigger, unleashing a deafening three-round burst. The bullets stitched the man from hip to shoulder, staggering him. His shotgun blast struck the pavement and ricocheted in all directions. Some of them must have struck his own feet because he flopped to the ground.
Joachim freed two pistols from the first man’s shoulder holsters. For a moment, Elle held him in her sights. He looked at her, his dark eyes unworried and calm. Pocketing the pistols, he searched the dead man for extra magazines.
“If you’re going to shoot, you’d better hurry,” he said calmly. He thrust the magazines into his pockets, then took the pistols back out.
Which mistake are you going to make? Elle asked herself. Shoot him and discover he’s innocent? Or let him live so he can shoot you in the back?
Chapter 7
Turning from Joachim, Elle sprinted toward Rusland Street. She cradled the assault rifle in close against her body to minimize its visibility and to better balance the weight.
Joachim ran after her.
When the flip-phone rang in her pocket, Elle took it out and answered, thankful that the technology and hardware were so durable. “Riley?”
“Yes.”
“Call Sam. Tell her to go north on Kloveniersburgwal.”
“Where’s that?”
“The canal east of my position. Have Sam take the two next left turns. That will put her north on Kloveniersburgwal. I’m going to try to get over there to intercept her pursuers.”
“Affirmative,” Riley said.
Elle closed the phone, put it away and saved her breath for running. Her wet shoes pounded the pavement.
Revelers and late-night tourists gave her ground immediately once they saw the assault rifle.
Joachim ran beside her. Like a wolf, he loped, making the effort he expended look too easy.
As she closed on the canal, Elle glanced to the right. Several boats moved along the turgid water. Two slalomed dangerously at the edge of control—Sam’s boat and the pursuit vessel. In just the short amount of time that had passed, the pursuit boat had almost managed to catch up.
Elle reached the midpoint of the bridge over Kloveniersburgwal. She knelt at the low wall, resting on her left knee. Automatically, she flipped the Kalashnikov’s tripod down, pulled the stock into her left shoulder and kept both eyes open as she sighted on the pursuit boat. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of the canal.
The pursuit boat tried to pull alongside Sam’s port. Steering into the other craft, Sam shouldered the boat aside and pulled hard to starboard. They split to go around a large pleasure boat hosting a wedding reception.
A chunk of stone broke from the bridge near the Kalashnikov’s barrel. Stone splinters struck Elle’s unprotected right cheek and made her eye water.
Joachim cursed and returned fire with his pistols.
Elle didn’t take her attention from the pursuit boat as it sped around the pleasure boat. The wedding guests milled around in confusion. She set her finger over the trigger, targeting the gunman’s head and shoulders. The distance was almost three hundred meters. And the target was moving.
“I’ve got your back,” Joachim said.
Elle felt the heat of him up against her, providing a living shield over her body. That was more distracting than being shot at.
“Take the shot,” Joachim told her.
Using the open sights, knowing that even if she’d had a sniper scope she wouldn’t have been able to use it on the careening boat, Elle let out half a breath. Then she fired the rifle on single-shot mode, steadily squeezing off each round.
The third round jerked the gunman around as the boat closed on Sam’s vessel again. The fourth or fifth bullet knocked the gunner down and left him sprawled. Grimly, Elle turned her attention to the pursuit boat’s pilot. She fired faster now.
Ultimately, she didn’t know if she hit the man or not, but the boat suddenly pulled hard to starboard. Out of control, the craft slammed into a moored yacht, lifted out of the water, and flipped onto dry land. The hull shattered against a group of trees. If the boat pilot survived the wreck, he wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
More bullets struck the bridge where Elle was. Throwing herself from her sniper spot, she went prone on the ground. Lifting the Kalashnikov, she took aim at one of the gunmen, suddenly visible as a crowd of frightened pedestrians split around him. Before she could squeeze the trigger, Joachim opened fire and put the man down.
Scanning the street and the nearby buildings, Elle spotted another downed gunman. That accounted for the four they had spotted during the original attack. If there weren’t any backup teams on-site, they were in the clear.
Police sirens screamed.
Elle got to her feet, panting, her mind still running at warp speed. She turned her attention to Joachim. “Who were those men?”
Joachim hesitated.
Elle shifted the assault rifle in her arms. “I intend to have an answer.”
A confident smile twisted Joachim’s handsome lips. The effort lost some of its bravado as blood seeped from the cut over his eyebrow.
“All right.” Joachim pocketed the pistols and took his empty hands out. He stepped closer to her, taking away the distance.
Stubbornly, Elle stood her ground and looked up at him.
“They belonged to a man named Arnaud Beck.”
Elle knew about Arnaud Beck. The man was muscle-for-hire and had an international reputation. “What did Beck want with you?”
Joachim shook his head. “Not me. You or your sister.” He paused. “From the way you both move and shoot, I don’t get the impression that you’re simply tourists here.”
Elle didn’t reply.
“I followed them to the train station and noticed they were watching your sister,” Joachim said. “Since you didn’t spot them tracing you from the train station, I assume they didn’t trail you long.”
“They knew where we’d end up,” Elle said, figuring it out.
Joachim nodded. “You have to ask yourself how they knew that.”
Elle didn’t respond, but she knew it was true. Sam’s Athena Academy friends had sent her on this mission. They were the ones with the leak. Even Riley hadn’t known where Sam was going, so the leak couldn’t be blamed on the CIA.
The police sirens sounded louder and nearer. A group of spectators filled both ends of the bridge.
“How do you fit in to this?” Elle demanded.
Still holding his hands at his side, Joachim took another step into her space. He cupped her chin in his hand and offered that mocking smile again.
“I fit in anywhere I want to,” he told her. Then he kissed her.
Elle knew she should have shoved him back with the Kalashnikov. Or maybe even knocked him down or out with a swipe of the rifle butt. But she didn’t. She kissed him back, feeling the crazy chemistry bouncing around inside her head—and other places.
Before she was aware of it, her hand curled in his black T-shirt, pulling him even harder against her. His mouth opened and he kissed her more deeply. His hand slid from her chin to the back of her head, holding her tightly.
Then he broke the embrace, the kiss and the magic of the moment.
“I don’t know who you are,” he growled in German, “but you’re good.”
Good? What the hell does he mean by that? Elle stared at him.
His eyes, even the partially closed one, took on a hard glint. “Are you waiting for your friends from the CIA to close in?” He glanced around.
Look-Alike Page 6
